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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25799998">Argent Energy</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synchron/pseuds/Synchron'>Synchron</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Doom (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Artificial Cum, Creampie, Desk Sex, F/M, Robot Kink, Robot Sex, Sex Toys, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Voice Kink, haha ten foot tall robo man go brr, robo dicks</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 10:14:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,251</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25799998</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synchron/pseuds/Synchron</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Never let it be said that Samuel Hayden is not a man of science.</p><p>All kinds of science.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Samuel Hayden/Reader, Samuel Hayden/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>148</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Argent Energy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I originally had a baderer not-so-good version of this posted exclusively on my tumblr, that I wasn't comfortable with posting here until I polished it up a bit, and so here it is now months later!! ✨✨</p><p>I just.. wanna fuck the tall robo man with the nice voice. The fact that Doom 2016 and Eternal are absolute treats to play is like icing on an already delicious cake. 🤣</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When you joined the UAC, it was as a bright eyed graduate with a fresh degree in bioengineering, and an untarnished optimism. You were surprised to have been recruited at all, honestly, chosen specifically by an unknown benefactor - whom, back then, you only knew as S.H - for a three month contract on the Mars facility. To your knowledge, the UAC had no need for someone like you; what on earth would a bioengineer with virtually no field experience be doing amidst a conglomerate like the UAC, after all? It seemed too good to be true.</p><p><em>Far</em> too good to be true.</p><p>But it all made sense when you found out about the true nature of one of the UAC's most esteemed figures, Samuel Hayden - your not very subtle S.H. You learned of how he was struggling with a devastating cancer. How his time was running out, and how he intended to surpass the limitations of his feeble humanity. A cybernetic body is no walk in the park for even the UAC's brightest and best, and they do say many hands make light work. So you agreed.</p><p>What resulted was a monolithic structure; ten feet of a special reinforced alloy, sleek and clean in design, with all the hallmarks of a soothing, if not rather cold presence. It bore the silhouette of what the good Doctor himself referred to as "heroic".</p><p>You thought it to be ridiculous at first. A testament to his arrogance that stood nearly as tall as his new physical body, overbearing and suffocating. But over time, as his systems became more streamlined through rigorous and constant testing, you began to notice shifts in your perception of his demeanour. You noticed the fluidity of his movements, perfectly smooth and natural, lacking in the mechanical rigidity you were expecting from artificial components. His height became far less egregious, and more like the symbol of strength he'd intended it to be. His voice, though cold and blanketed in a thick layer of distortion, still carried hints of humour and sarcasm. And perhaps most clear of all, was his blatant favouritism of you.</p><p>Those last few things you would notice more intensely whenever he would bend at the waist to bring his expressionless visage down to your own, quietly addressing you with a slow drawl that would leave you weak at the knees. You'd mask it of course, do your best to shake off the nervous excitement brewing in your gut, wave it off as the air handlers being set too high, but Samuel was a smart man. Cunning and perceptive.</p><p>The first time he had you, it was with those long fingers. Just one first, slipped so casually under your skirt after hours, and once that cold alloy had warmed to the temperature of your body, oh did you welcome it, spreading your legs for him to let him watch with that single ocular lens, the way you clenched around his digit and made a mess of the paperwork you were sitting on. Penetration alone doesn't normally do it for you, but if it's him, towering over you and caging you in; if it's him, whispering softly into your ear about how tight your little hole is, and how especially tight it's going to be when stretched around something he's preparing <em>just for you</em>, then you think you'd probably be able to get off even when he innocuously curls his fingers during a board meeting.</p><p>Your turbulent three month contract then became six.</p><p>Then twelve.</p><p>Then indefinite.</p><p>And now you're on his desk - the way he normally likes having you - legs spread wide while he holds something thick and blunt and <em>vibrating</em> against the very peak of your bare cunt.</p><p>His head tilts, barely noticeable were it not for the blue lens that now sits slightly askew in your vision. "Powerful, isn't it?" He drawls, voice so deep, so soothing, but somehow still so <em>cold</em> and empty. It's a low and rumbling, rolling bass as potent as the buzzing of the wand that your boss is keeping pressed to your clit. He leans in closer, the smooth plane of his face stooping low to study your every reaction with careful, scrupulous scrutiny, while softly placing his free hand against his desk beside you to support his weight. You're struggling to keep eye contact with him, to keep your gaze on the soft blue LED that serves as his optic sensor - a silent demand you know he wants you to uphold - but your head keeps falling back as you whimper, thighs already quaking with the tremors that tickle and tingle every one of your limbs right down to the very tips of your fingers.</p><p>"I can't… feel my legs." You manage to say between breathless gasps and muted jerks of your hips towards that infernal little toy of his own design. To your credit, you can't feel much of anything outside of that little motor purr, purr, <em>purring</em> against your body, and you think you're beginning to drool, a thin string of it seeping from the corner of your parted lips as you pant and moan into his face.</p><p>He presses it harder against you, and you jolt, arms going rigid, and back arching as you whimper, quiet and restrained, to the soft fluorescent lights of his office.</p><p>"<em>Answer me.</em>" Shifting, Samuel grips one of your thighs with long, cold fingers, curling them around your entire leg; an effortless task when he's so, so much bigger than you. It's a wonder he's even able to study you as closely as he is when he towers so far over you, his long body bent over your tiny frame, so small and feeble and pliant in comparison. The blue LED of his optics flares as an idle threat, a reminder that you are still under his supervision, his <em>care</em>, even if most of your nights are spent of your own enthusiastic volition, bouncing on his glowing, silicon cock. You remember the first time he introduced it to you, grabbing a fistful of your hair and sliding it into your mouth while you gripped at his thighs... It's seen vigorous use since then even in spite of the fact that it's a rather pointed off-label use of the Argent Accumulators that powers his systems. But it's one that he enjoys as much as you do, even if he isn't quite as vocal about it as you are. You're not certain he even feels pleasure the way humans do anymore, but you <em>have</em> noticed he does hum and sometimes even groans whenever you cum, whether it be in time with his release of artificial semen, or <em>because</em> of it.</p><p>"<em>It is–</em>" You gulp down a breath of air, wet your lips with a swipe of your tongue that Samuel watches with an almost predatory fascination. His thumb on your thigh, the cold metal that's only <em>just</em> beginning to warm to your body temperature, rubs small circles into your skin, gentle and reassuring that slows your heart back down to a simmer. He even reduces the pressure on your clit, taking with it some of the fog that hangs heavy in your mind. "It is."</p><p>"Does it require any…" he purposely lets his voice trail off, tapering away into that deep purr you've come to love hearing. That slow and deliberate way he handles every syllable. Every vowel, "...<em>improvements</em>?"</p><p>"It needs…" You're interrupted when your cunt spasms once, clenching on nothing when that reduced pressure teases the very tip of where you're the weakest, providing you with an onslaught of fresh sensations, warm glows and chills alike. Samuel does little more than vaguely cant his head downward when he registers a spike in your heart rate, as if regarding the wet mess you're leaving smeared over the LED displays built into his desk. Oh it's such a shame he can't feel just how <em>wet</em> he makes you with his hands, but that is a minor inconvenience at best.</p><p>Just another cost of his progress.</p><p>And if nothing else, he can <em>feel</em> you when you're squeezing down on him, receiving a phantom pleasure from being milked by your greedy little cunt.</p><p>"Tell me," he urges you, voice quieter, gentler, almost like a lover. But you know better, and so does he; there is nothing beneath that cold distortion. Just an endless fascination for your enthusiasm and desire to please him. A smug satisfaction in knowing that all he need do is gesture, and you'll hike up your skirt and expose yourself to his probing fingers.</p><p>"More variables." You manage to utter, spilling another torrent of warm slick onto his desk. "How can you expect results with such–" you gasp for breath, huffing out a short moan, "–static values. And you call yourself a man of science."</p><p>He chuckles, low and slow, amused that you're still maintaining a professional facade even at this point in your "relationship". You should have thrown that away months ago, just like you threw your panties across the room the very first time he buried his cock into you. Lord knows you hardly wear any whenever you visit his office now.</p><p>"You always were an insatiable little nymph. I would imagine no amount of… <em>variables</em> would ever satisfy you." A pause for effect. Samuel has always been one for theatrics. "But never say I don't do anything for you."</p><p>Ironic that, when he has done more for you, and only you, than anybody else in the entire complex. Who else can say they've had vibrators and wands custom made to suit every whim and desire? Not many, and you secretly take joy in that.</p><p>Samuel doesn't press anything on the bulbous device in his large hand, doesn't even move (which tells you he is directly interfaced with it, the conniving bastard), but the motor responds nonetheless to a wordless, soundless prompt, its pattern changing from a constant vibration to a repeating, rising crescendo. Your hips buck, pressing harder into the little toy to chase each peak in its pattern before it falls away again, rocking now to a rhythm of his making. You pinch your lower lip between your teeth, not to stifle your mewls, but to provoke him with a playful smile up through your eyelashes, coy and coquettish in all the ways he delights in.</p><p>You feel his hand squeeze around your thigh tighter when you do. He does so love the show that you always put on for him, and you have yet to disappoint with your open blouse and pencil skirt bunched up around your waist. The crotchless stockings were admittedly a surprise, but he'd remained placid even when you spread your legs to reveal your already dripping cunt. Of course, with no real facial features, just one single LED through which he sees, that isn't much of a feat.</p><p>"Is that all?" Even though you're breathless, your words are biting; sharp fangs denting his pride. In fact, you've jostled a few of his more delicate components in exactly that way before. He once had to grab a handful of your hair to force your head back before you punctured any of the systems in his neck.</p><p>At the very least, that was a flaw in his design that he was able to discover and promptly address.</p><p>Samuel looks back up at you, assessing the tightness of your expression, your vital signs beginning to spike... you are bluffing, trying to incite a punishment he knows you want. Over your time together, you've become increasingly good at it. And even better at getting under his skin, prying into his arrogance to pull it apart one wire at a time. Even now, you've placed a gentle hand upon the one holding the buzzing toy against your clit, fingers easing their way into all of his little nooks to affectionately caress what lies underneath his metal plating. But to offset that tender gesture, your voice is filled with mirth. "I've bought thirty dollar wands that offered me more than this. Is this all your <em>precious</em> Argent Energy can do?"</p><p>The silence between you, save for the constant droning of the toy in his hands and the hum of the air filters, stretches on and on in a wordless standoff. It soon reaches a fever pitch, culminating in the device being tossed aside, and the hand that grips your thigh unceremoniously flips you over with an effortless ease so you're now pressed flat against the smooth metal of his desk. A forceful hand presses into the center of your back directly between your shoulder blades, and though you can't see it, you hear something click into place, followed by a gentle hiss of hydraulics.</p><p>Samuel leans down, the flawless plane of his face hovering right by your ear as he rasps. Almost a seductive purr, were it not for the cutting edge in his tone. "<em>Perhaps a more upfront demonstration then?</em>"</p><p>With your cheek pressed against the desk, you can only laugh, giddy, as he lines himself up, gliding the very tip of his cybernetic cock through glistening folds. The hand not anchoring you to his desk closes over one ass cheek which he spreads to give him the view of you he likes best; seeing you mould to the shape of his cock always sends a pleasant jolt through his systems.</p><p>Beneath him, you make a pleased noise, eager and enticing, dripping with a need as palpable as the arousal that leaks from you. "Mm, fuck me, Sammy..."</p><p>As if reasserting his dominance, his fingers squeeze your ass hard enough to bruise, eliciting a moan that gets cut short when he bottoms out inside you with a single, powerful stroke. If his desk weren't bolted to the floor, you're convinced that the entire structure would have jolted forward on the carpet. Luckily, with the tips of your shoes barely touching the floor, leaving you dangling helplessly over the desk, and entirely at his mercy, all that mind-numbing, spine-tingling force is directed into you. Your eyes roll back, and your whines are reduced to breathless gasps as Samuel Hayden, chairman of the UAC, fucks you in full, thorough strokes on his desk. He's deliberately slow on the withdraw, letting your tight cunt wrap around each ridge, each bulging and glowing conduit before he rams his cock back inside you to sheathe himself entirely in your heat.</p><p>"Don't be shy now," he prompts, voice not even remotely out of breath, even with the thorough pounding he's giving you. But why would he be? "Where is that spirit you were clinging to moments ago?"</p><p>His hand leaves your ass, yanking you up by the forearm until your back arches, and your face meets with his as he looms over you, staring at you from above. His fingers, warm now, close gently around your throat, pinning you into position and forcing you to gaze back up at him. You know he's expecting a reply from you, but all you can manage are gasps and desperate keens; being forced almost upright has his cock hitting that one spot deep inside you that makes you quake and quiver, teetering dangerously between oblivion and bliss.</p><p>The more he nudges up against it, the more you think they're one and the same.</p><p>"Nothing at all?" Samuel laughs again, but this one is tinted with something you can swear is endearment. "How disappointing."</p><p>Your vision is beginning to blur - he can tell from the way your pupils begin to dilate in erratic patterns, how the colour of your eyes begins to dull, and how they slowly unfocus from his face, trailing off to the side to stare into empty space. How you merely bask in the pleasure he's letting you experience. Like this; back arched with your throat in his hand; half dressed while his cock pistons in and out of you; drooling and panting; you are the very picture of unabashed debauchery.</p><p>He'd have been a fool to let your contract expire.</p><p>"<em>Look at me when you cum</em>."</p><p>You can feel his words vibrate through your entire body, spoken with such a commanding edge that you almost peak then and there. But even though your mind is a frayed mess of sparking nerves, you obey. The colour returns to your eyes, gaze sharpening as they refocus on his upside down visage above you. You arch up a little higher, stretching up and up until your lips barely graze the metal on his face, right where his cheek would be if he'd opted to give himself a more humanoid appearance. It isn't a kiss - you both know that - but you <em>do</em> notice that Samuel had lowered his head to meet with you halfway, letting you puff and moan against his face plate while he continues to thrust. It's almost sickening, the sound, the sheer <em>volume</em> that your sopping cunt makes every time he pushes into you, squelching and splattering and dripping slick down your thighs in heavy, ardent strands.</p><p>You have to fight, consciously fight, to resist the urge to let your eyes roll off to the side again. "I'm– going to–" </p><p>"I know."</p><p>One of your hands lifts to rest atop the one at your neck, not to pry off you, but simply just to touch; a gesture that's so gentle and out of place in such a raw and primal exchange. The other reaches somewhere behind you, fumbling blindly and desperately for the curved handles that adorn his hips. You hear Samuel hum, content, when your fingers finally find it, adjusting their grip just in time for you to cum with a choked cry when he bottoms out in you one last time.</p><p>Deep inside you, you feel a searing heat bloom, wet and somehow sticky as he releases a thick load of creamy white into your spasming core. There's something in that cum of his, you swear it, something that tingles pleasantly when it comes into contact with your skin, renewing your pleasure with each pump, each twitch of his cock. It throbs incessantly, persistently, against your g-spot until your entire body shudders along with it, every muscle contracting until you milk him dry like the greedy slut that you are for him.</p><p>When your contractions slow, easing you back into a world of sound and colour, you go slack in his hold, breathing hard and boneless, but in a soothing way. The afterglow, the cooldown after sex with you is always brief, but he never fails to handles you gingerly and with a sense of care that transcends that of an employer. Today, he lets you sag against him, until your pulse evens out, and your breathing settles.</p><p>Then Samuel lifts his head away.</p><p>"It seems we reached some… unexpected results." There's a quiet hiss of coolant being injected into his systems when he stops talking, growing louder when he tilts his head up to scan his office until he finds the toy he'd discarded earlier. It highlights itself on his HUD in a soft yellow glow, even all the way across the other side of the room, and though tired and out of breath, you follow his line of sight. "Keep it as a gift." When he looks back down at you, there may as well be a smug smile etched into his expressionless exterior, because his voice is laden with a smug flavour.</p><p>"I'll be expecting a report from you about it come Monday."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading!! 💖🙏</p></blockquote></div></div>
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